


lovely girl, won't you stay

by anna_kat



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied Fitz/Skye, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:43:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_kat/pseuds/anna_kat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>His lips press against her jaw and down her throat, and her fingers wind into his hair and she’s pretty sure they have not spoken one word to each other.</em>
</p><p>They're meant to be discussing their relationship, instead of peeling off each other's clothing in a hotel room nine floors above an incredibly formal SHIELD event. But Grant Ward looks stunning in a tux, and there's only so much Jemma can do to control herself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lovely girl, won't you stay

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous requested: "biospecialist first time"

There aren’t candles everywhere, no rose petals leading to the bed or taking hours to just let hands wander new territory. It doesn’t happen because one of them was in mortal danger, or because they argued their way into sexual tension, or because they professed their love for one another in sudden moments of weakness and fragility.

No, it just sort of happens.

They’re on the ground in DC for supplies and a refuel, and their stop coincides with some big shindig SHIELD has once a year. Jemma’s not entirely sure it’s coincidental, but she’s in a stunning evening gown that was well worth the insane shopping trip with a well-caffeinated hacker and engineer.

She’d been catching Grant’s eyes on her all night, which wasn’t out of the ordinary, but he hadn’t said a word to her edgewise since breakfast. Which was rather far out of the ordinary. Not that she’d attempted much contact either.

They both know everyone’s just waiting for them to get over themselves and get together. The two of them aren’t subtle anymore, if they ever were. She doesn’t deny to herself (or anyone else that brings it up) that he does in fact brighten considerably when she’s around. She knows she does the same. They make eyes at each other without even realizing they’re doing it. Touches that could last a second and be platonic simply aren’t.

However, by this point, she’s been functioning under the assumption that they simply needed to find a good time to talk it out. Have a rational, calm discussion about what they want from each other, what they think they have.

This is rather the opposite of rational, calm discussion in the sense that they’re not actually having a discussion.

They’re nine floors above the hotel’s ballroom where the rest of their team is enjoying themselves. Though she’d be hard-pressed to recall the last time she saw Fitz and Skye.

Speaking of hard-pressed, her back hits the door of the hotel room when he wraps his hands around her thighs and lifts her up against him, probably tired of craning his neck. His lips press against her jaw and down her throat, and her fingers wind into his hair and she’s pretty sure they have not spoken one word to each other.

She could let him mouth at her neck for the next few decades and enjoy the hell out of it the whole time, but she sort of had other plans in mind. So she starts to untuck his shirt from the pants of his tux, delighting in the shiver that comes over him when her fingernails scratch lightly against his stomach.

He pulls her away from the door and spins until he’s walking her toward the bed at the center of the room. His hands slide up her back, grasping the tiny zipper of her gown and trying to pull it down while still nipping marks into her neck. She can feel him struggling with the dress, and when he finally tears his lips from her skin to puff an irritated sound against her collarbone, she laughs.

It’s quiet and a little raspy, but his eyes still come up to meet hers with a sheepish grin. “I can do it.” She whispers, the first words since the elevator.

He lets her down, her toes curling against the soft carpet. The way he’s looking down at her is so distracting (intoxicating) that it takes her two tries to grasp the zipper and start to work it down. She blinks slowly and then he’s standing behind her, his lips drifting down her spine as the zipper parts.

She shivers and he’s in front of her again. His jacket is gone and the top half of his shirt is unbuttoned, so she lets her gown drop to the floor and her fingers scramble to undo the last few buttons of his shirt. She’s slightly hindered when he cups her face between his hands and kisses her hard again. His shirt gets pushed off his shoulders, her hands moving to his belt.

He murmurs something against her mouth, but she misses it entirely. She kisses him hard instead of asking him to repeat himself. He doesn’t seem to mind.

His belt is gone now, and she goes for his pants. She doesn’t get very far though, when he grasps her hips and backs her toward the bed again. She squeaks when his arm drops down under her bum, and in one smooth motion he lifts and then tosses her onto the mattress.

His knees hit the bed when he leans over her, his palms pressed flat to the comforter. “Okay?” He asks, his voice lower and warmer and raspier than she’s ever heard it. (She’d like to hear it more.)

She doesn’t answer him, just reaches up for his face and hauls him down to meet her in a kiss. It’s an answer in itself, she supposes.

The second she breaks for air, he catches her bottom lip between his teeth, biting gently and then kissing over it. Heat sparks up her spine.

It doesn’t really stop for the rest of the night, the heat sparking.

Later, when there’s no light in the room except for the exceptionally bright moonlight, she curls both her arms up near the pillow and tries to catch her breath. He’s on his side, head propped up in his hand, just looking at her. It seems like she should feel self-conscious, but she doesn’t. She hopes he wants to look at her constantly, like she wants to look at him.

And she does want to look at him, turning her head so her cheek presses to the pillow and giving him a lazy, content smile. He smiles back, but it’s lopsided, like he’s distracted by her. Her face flushes.

His free hand reaches out slowly, dancing through the air for a moment like he’s uncertain. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, then brushes his fingers along her jaw. His thumb traces her bottom lip and she holds onto his wrist, turning it to kiss his palm.

“I’m sorry we missed the end of the party.” He says into the quiet of the room.

She holds his hand against her collarbone, fingers tracing along his knuckles. Her smile is somehow both shy and mischievous. “Mm. I liked our party better, anyway. You look far better out of your tuxedo than you did in it.” She rolls until she can press her lips to his chest once, twice, three times. “And you looked very nice in it.”

It’s sort of hard to tell in the moonlight, but she thinks his face turns a little pink too. She giggles. “Yes, well, it was nothing compared to you in that dress.” Suddenly he’s rolling toward her, overtaking her and pressing her down into the mattress. He kisses along her jaw and then he’s whispering in her ear. “And definitely nothing compared to you out of that dress.”

His hands are warm, and her skin is warm, and the kisses just keep getting warmer, and it just sort of happens. Again.


End file.
